


but i would give my life (for a single night beside you)

by r0b0juice



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Eddie Kaspbrak is Bad at Feelings, Eventual Romance, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Good Parent Maggie Tozier, Humor, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Richie Tozier's Internalized Homophobia, Skateboarding, Skater Eddie Kaspbrak, Soft Richie Tozier, Summer Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:48:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22959679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/r0b0juice/pseuds/r0b0juice
Summary: credit to @frenchkaspbrak on twitter: "soft boy richie likes to “read” at the coffee shop right by the skate park.... for no particular reason... skater boi eddie has nothing to do with it at all aha..."(title taken from Elton's Song by elton john)
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 5
Kudos: 47





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frenchkaspbrak](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=frenchkaspbrak).



> hello lovely readers! before we start this fic, i'd like to note that this was inspired by the lovely @frenchkasprak on twitter! they tweeted this adorable headcanon about soft!richie and skater!eddie and i just had to write something about it! hope you all enjoy :)

It started with a book about a walking corpse, he supposed. 

When Richie Tozier awoke at the ridiculously early hour of six in the morning on the third Tuesday of July, however, he wasn’t thinking about books of any sort. Rather, he was thinking about the smell of burning food and the deafening wail of the smoke alarm that had roused him from his slumber, which already wasn’t that peaceful in the first place. He knew what it was without even having to leave his bedroom, and rather than dragging himself down the rickety stairs to investigate, the noiret lay still in his bed, tugging one of the numerous, slightly thinning knit blankets that his late grandmother had gifted to him in his childhood over his head, inhaling that strange,  _ old-person _ smell of menthol and mothballs that never seemed to go away, no matter how much fabric softener he put in the washing machine. His mother had burned breakfast again.

He couldn’t blame Maggie for her terrible cooking skills, though. Richie perhaps even felt a bit of guilt every time he walked into the seemingly ever-present cloud of grey smoke that hovered in their tiny kitchen. He knew she was just trying her best. At least the poor woman knew how to boil water, he supposed. All he could do at the moment was place take-out orders from the local pad thai place down the street, and pray that his future children wouldn’t starve to death-- unfortunately, his mother’s inability to cook had passed down to him as well, so as far as he could tell the results weren’t promising.

Hearing his mother’s footsteps making their way closer, Richie forced himself into a semi-upright position, squinting into the darkness besides him as he fumbled for the end of the string of lights hanging above his bed, finally managing to locate it and rather violently shoving the plug into the socket nearby. With a small buzzing noise, the multi-hued Christmas lights that had been suspended near the ceiling of his room since the end of February sparked to life, casting a rainbow glow down upon him and causing him to squint due to how bright they appeared in the dark room. He reached over to his bedside table, his fingers finally pushing against the cold wire frames of his round-lens glasses. Unfolding them, he pushed them up his nose, managing to open his eyes completely just as his mother stepped into the room.

Maggie was a mess, to say the least. Richie didn’t even know how she had managed to get waffle batter in her hair and halfway up her sleeve, but needless to say, he wasn’t about to ask. Before the woman standing in his doorway could get a word out, Richie answered her question before she even uttered it-- after all, she had spoken the same sequence of words every morning for five years, hadn’t she? “Yes, I’ll pick up some donuts for us, Mum. Three glazed, three double chocolate, correct?”

His mother simply let out a sigh, a weak smile appearing on her features. Richie liked when his mother smiled, even with those sad wrinkles that creased at her eyes and at the corners of her mouth. It proved she still had something left in her, which was always a good thing. “Of course, Richie. I do hope you’re not tired of doing this every morning, you know…”

“Oh, I’m not. I don’t mind in the slightest!” Richie replied with a genuine grin, dramatically stretching his arms above his head and letting out a tiny squeak of a yawn. “Wakes me up, y’know?” he added in a comedic accent not dissimilar to that of someone from the deep south. “I find some fun in it!”

“Oh, Richie…” His mother laughed, but only for a few brief seconds. “Well, I’m glad you enjoy it at any rate. There’s a twenty on the table downstairs near your backpack, that should cover it.”

Nodding in reply, Richie watched as his mother left the room before hopping out of bed. He wasn’t lying-- he didn’t mind getting out of bed early during the summer if there were donuts and bike rides involved. He thrived on the feeling of the wind whipping through his hair as he rode his rickety bicycle down the sidewalk, dodging the few pedestrians he came across while the donut box sat in the wire basket he had fastened onto the back of what he loved to call his  _ getaway vehicle.  _ Richie admitted himself that he had an imagination as wild as a young child’s, and his head would fill with fantasies like the shows his mother liked watching on the television packed in the corner of the living room; more often than not as he rode down the cracked pavement of the streets of Derry, his head was racing as he pictured himself being chased by some sort of evil force, whether it be a band of enemy spies or a monstrous being with a thirst for blood. Of course, he wouldn’t mention these thoughts to anyone, as he suspected the few friends he had thought he was weird enough without knowing of his overactive imagination.

Richie dressed himself in a rush. Normally, he put great care into his outfit, but he wanted to move quickly today. He hadn’t mentioned it to Maggie, but he was in the mood for something besides donuts. As he frantically tugged a pastel-pink turtleneck over his head, knocking his glasses askew and turning his hair into even more of a rat’s nest than before, his thoughts were focused on one thing, which was an extraordinarily rare thing to happen. No, Richie certainly wasn’t thinking about flesh-eating beasts chasing him among crowds of pedestrians this time, although that would have been a much more pleasant thing to think about. Rather, the threat of his impending summer reading, which he considered a curse upon this sorry planet, was looming in the back of his mind, and he doubted it would disappear any time soon.

Back in June, his psychopathic literature teacher Ms. Grabenstein, whom Richie suspected was possessed by some sort of  _ bitch-demon _ from the depths of the underworld, had assigned a project that was due at the beginning of the school year. The project, she explained on the last day of sophomore year, would be based on the book  _ Frankenstein _ and would consist of two elements; a 1,000 word paper and an  _ interpretive collage _ , whatever the hell that meant. He had intended to begin the project at the beginning of summer like his mother advised, leaving him with loads of free time… but of course, Richie Tozier and his wild mind didn’t work like that. His mind had bigger and better things to focus on. For example, those weird blue glass bottles that his mother would collect from yard sales and stick flowers in, and why those bottles looked like someone’s eyes when the light passed through them; someone whose eyes he swore he recognized but he could never quite put a finger on it… and he ran out of time, predictably. So he had two missions today, he supposed, as he cuffed the jeans of his slightly faded white jeans, one of which included arriving at the library and praying that they still had a copy of the dreaded  _ walking corpse book _ . Donuts and corpses, donuts and corpses…

One of Richie’s shoelaces nearly snapped as he pulled them into a ridiculously tight bow, yet he ignored it. Running into the bathroom down the hall, he ran a comb through his tangled mess of hair, giving up after a few short seconds and sticking a few blue and green butterfly clips into his bangs instead to hide the knotted bits and make it appear somewhat presentable. His cheeks were already a rosy pink from running around like a maniac, so he didn’t bother trying to sneak his mother’s blush out of her makeup kit-- after all, she would most likely lecture him for it anyways.  _ Boys don’t wear makeup _ , he could already hear her saying.  _ Only girls do. Please don’t become like one of  _ **_those_ ** _ people, you’ll break my heart.  _ Obviously, he loved Maggie, but sometimes she could be a bit intolerable. 

Just as his mother had said, Richie found the aforementioned money resting on top of his bright red backpack with only one working strap. The reason for the single strap he preferred to keep secret solely because of how embarrassing the explanation was; however, he was willing to disclose that it involved a particularly bad slip down a hill on his  _ getaway vehicle _ and a low-hanging tree branch that the rich neighbors living down the block never bothered to cut. Now, the broken strap hung limply from the pack, but it was more comfortable to wear on one shoulder anyways. Sometimes, if he was in the mood for it, he would also slip it over his head and right shoulder, and wear it like those carry-on totes that the girls at school would wear… it often got stuck, though, so he didn’t do this very often. Stuffing the money into the front pocket of his backpack with his library card and zipping it up, he tugged his bag onto his shoulder with the non-faulty strap, yelling a quick goodbye before bolting out the screen door and down the steps.

He’d chained his bike to the railing of the front steps yesterday afternoon when he’d come back from the arcade, and Riche was relieved to see that no one had stolen it yet. He unlocked the rusty lock with the key he always kept on a keyring hanging from his backpack, leaving the ridiculously short chain dangling from his porch as he hopped on the bike and took off down the pavement. He had that  _ zoomy _ feeling again, that feeling he always got when he rode down that hill his house sat on. He’d lift his feet up with a childlike squeal of delight, letting the pedals circle wildly on their own accord while he clung to the handlebars in a frightened sort of glee, the seat bumping and rattling rapidly as he ran over the uneven slabs of the sidewalk. Richie always kept his goal in mind whenever he went on one of his little missions, and today was no different, even though there were two in mind.  _ Donuts and corpses,  _ he sang to himself as he soared along the road,  _ Donuts and corpses and corpses and donuts.  _

And so Richie went, riding over bumps and cracks in the pavement as the single-strap pack slapped against his shoulder. He’d tugged the collar of his turtleneck over his mouth, and as his breath hitched in excitement every time he turned a corner, he inhaled the sickly-sweet smell of Maggie’s floral fabric softener while the butterfly clips in his hair bounced up and down. Once he reached the bakery, he dug his heels into the ground to stop the bike rather than hitting the brakes, wincing as part of the rubber sole of his checkered sneakers peeled off. Of course, he expected this to happen, as he always stopped the bike this way, but it didn’t mean it was any less of a shock, at least in his mind.

The little jingling bell in the doorway of the bakery as Richie pushed the glass double doors open rang out loud and clear in the room-- due to being quite early in the morning, it was empty apart from Mr. Richard Lewis, the cheerful old owner of the building who reminded Richie quite a bit of Winnie the Pooh, especially in terms of his voice. He was one of the few adults in Derry besides Maggie who Richie knew for a fact didn’t despise him, and actually made an effort to let him know that he wasn’t a total bother. Mr. Lewis knew Richie’s order by now, and he could see the old man reaching inside the glass counter with the metal tongs, plucking the donuts out of their paper lined trays and placing them inside the white paper box resting on a table nearby. “Hello there, Richie. I’ll have these out for you in a minute, alright?”

“Gotcha!” Richie nodded, tugging his sleeves over his hands as he darted over to the counter. He couldn’t help but bounce in place and flap his hands a bit, his eyes rocketing about the room and focusing on the beautifully iced cakes sitting in the window, the potted plants that had been placed on top of the counter and were wilting slightly at the ends, the dust-bunny in the corner by his foot that never seemed to leave…

“That’ll be five dollars, Rich.”

Nodding, Richie fished the money out of his single-strap pack and pushed it across the counter, receiving some change in return. As soon as the box of donuts was in his arms, he was off again, running out the door and hopping on his bike. Putting the donut box in the basket behind his seat, he checked the watch on his right wrist, a grin instantly filling up his face.  _ Fifty-four seconds. That’s a new record.  _ He loved to get through things fast. He had to go fast, constantly had to be moving, always had to be running through life at what he considered the speed of sound on his own two feet or on his  _ getaway vehicle _ , finishing another one of his wild adventures and moving onto another, the constant movement practically being a requirement for him to stay alive. And now Richie was going fast again, pedaling rapidly down the street in the direction of the Derry Library with the donuts in his basket. He had to go fast, he thought, the too-tight strings of the bows on his shoelaces stringing behind him and almost getting caught in his bike chain, the backpack slapping against his shoulder again; he had to get the corpse book, he had to go fast, fast  _ fast! _

Then Richie wasn’t moving fast anymore; that is to say, he couldn’t. For a split second, he wondered what happened, but then he realized he was lying on the ground, his bike completely upside down as one wheel spun wildly, his trademark one-strap pack lying a few feet away on top of the crushed donut box. He had hit someone, Richie realized… someone had been in the middle of the sidewalk and he had hit them. It had never happened to him in the five years he’d been riding his bike through the neighborhood, but it had happened this time, and he felt tears welling in his eyes. Not because he was experiencing any sort of physical pain, certainly, but because  _ holy shit he’d hit someone and what if he’d killed them? _

There was someone else lying next to him, Richie realized, who must be the person he had ever so suddenly rammed into. It was a boy, he guessed, from the short, mousy brown hair partially covered by the black snapback perched on his head at a jaunty angle. And as the person besides him rolled onto his back, rubbing his arm and wincing in pain, his theory was proved correct, and he made a mental note of his small victory--  _ it was a boy. Very, very cute boy.  _ He quite frankly didn’t give a shit if it was too much of a sensitive situation; if he wanted to fawn over the boy who he had just run over with a bike, then he would fawn over him as much as he pleased. 

“Ow… fucking hell!”  _ Cute boy _ had a much higher voice than Richie expected. It was tiny and squeaky, and kind of reminded him of the voices of the colored puppets on the kids’ programming on television. He  _ looked _ like one of the puppets too… his hat was black, but the rest of his clothing had bright colors, yellow and red and blue, like a circus tent. “Jesus, what the hell’d you do that for? Can’t you watch where you’re going?”

Richie couldn’t find his voice for a minute, which was quite unusual for him. Usually he couldn’t stop running his mouth, so to find himself at a loss for words was a brand-new sensation for him, just like the weird  _ flippy-over _ thing his heart did every time he looked up at  _ cute boy _ . Once he found his tongue, he could do nothing but apologize… the last thing he wanted was to anger this adorable stranger. “I’m sorry! I really didn’t mean to do that, honestly…”

“Well, it sure seemed like you meant to…”  _ Cute boy _ huffed, angrily crossing his arms and rubbing a cut that had opened up on his lower thigh.

“...but I didn’t.” Richie shook his head again, frantically fumbling for his one-strap pack that was lying in the middle of the pavement.  _ Stop the bleeding, stop the bleeding. Make him not-angry _ . He always kept a small first-aid kit in his pack just in case something like… well, like this… happened. Of course, he didn’t think it would happen because he ran over someone, but that was just how life worked sometimes, he supposed. “Let me see your leg.”

“No offense, but I think you’ve done enough damage for one day.”  _ Cute boy _ got to his feet, using the brick wall of the butcher’s they had stopped in front of to pull himself into an upright position, his head swiveling around as though he was looking for something. Finally, he seemed to locate what he needed, limping over to the nearby storm drain and yanking out a slightly battered dark-green skateboard that had somehow gotten lodged inside. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m good.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to kiss it better?” The words were out of Richie’s mouth before he could decide against it, and he had to admit he regretted it a bit; and he probably would have regretted it quite a bit more if he didn’t find the look of shock on the brunet’s face so  _ god-damn adorable! _ “...I’m assuming that’s a no.”

“Obviously it’s a no!”  _ Cute boy _ was blushing, a sight that Richie considered himself blessed to be witnessing. “Why would you even say that?”

Richie simply shrugged at this, tugging his turtleneck over his mouth again and muffling his words. “I get nervous around cute people, I guess.” 

“That’s got to be the stupidest excuse for something I’ve ever heard.”  _ Cute boy _ was shaking his head again, but he was smiling too. Smiles were usually good, Richie figured. Hopefully this was an  _ I forgive you for crushing me with your bike _ kind of smile and not a different kind. Richie liked when this boy smiled; it made the cinnamon freckles on his cheeks pop out and the corners of his big round eyes crinkle up like a candy wrapper. “Look, I, um… I’m sorry about your donuts.”

“They’ll be okay. I like squished donuts,” Richie shrugged, honestly quite surprised things were going as well as they were so far. He decided to adopt a mock British accent in an attempt to provoke a laugh from the  _ cute boy _ , leaning over and shaking his hand in an exaggerated fashion. “Dreadfully sorry ‘bout running you over, good fellow! Guess I’m just blind as a bat today…”  _ It worked! _ he realized as a soft giggle, tiny and high-pitched like a music box, escaped the boy before him, and he felt a little spark of happiness running through his veins.

“It’s fine… do you want me to make it up to you somehow? I can pay for those, if you want,”  _ Cute boy _ offered, gesturing towards the donut box still lying on the ground.

“Actually… there’s a couple things I need.”

“Really? What are they?”

“First of all… I can’t keep calling you  _ random stranger I crushed with a bike  _ in my head, can I?” Richie laughed. “So I kind of need to know your name.”

“Oh!”  _ Cute boy _ was laughing again, stifling his little chuckles behind his hand as he leaned up against the brick wall, and Richie had to remember to tune back in at the last minute; his mind was going a mile a minute again and he could barely focus on anything except  _ shit! He’s cute! _ “It’s Eddie. Eddie Kaspbrak. And you are…?”

Richie performed a comically deep bow, sticking his hand out once more so Eddie could shake it. “Well, then! My name’s Richie Tozier, but you can simply call me… the Trashmouth.”

“Trashmouth, huh?” Eddie seemed to take this into consideration, tucking the skateboard beneath his arm as he shook Richie’s hand with a slightly confused expression. “If that’s the case, then… what’s the second thing you need, trash-man? I’m sure you’ve thought of some creative thing for me to do for you, huh?”

It was Richie’s turn to blush now, and he hated it. Normally he was the one to make all of his friends squirm with the sheer filth that usually passed his lips, so being on the receiving end of the comments for a change was affecting him greatly. Although, maybe it was just because of how cute Eddie looked with his arms crossed and a ridiculously smug expression on his face, but he’d have to think about it later. Rustling in the single-strap pack, he found his library card and held it out with a completely straight arm, grinning at Eddie as he did so and praying that the  _ cursed _ blush on his face would disappear as soon as humanly possible. “Can you go to the library down the street and pick up a copy of  _ Frankenstein _ for me? It’s for a project.”

“A book, huh?” Eddie looked the thin piece of plastic over, as though he was examining it for counterfeit. “Got it. Meet me at the skate park downtown in thirty minutes, and I’ll have it for you.”

“Derry has a skate park?”

“You mean you don’t know where it is?” Eddie sighed and shook his head again. “Go down this road, take a right, take a left, take another right, go straight for a mile. It’s across the street from that coffee shop with the blue flower pots sitting outside the door. You can’t miss it.” He dropped the skateboard onto the ground and rested his foot on it, stuffing the library card in his pocket with another smile. “I’ll see you there, okay? Don’t be late, trash-man.”

And as Eddie set off on his skateboard, those  _ fucking cute _ brown locks of hair trailing behind him in the breeze, Richie knew he wouldn’t be late. No, he certainly wouldn’t miss this for the world. Even if he had to deal with a slightly dented bike frame and a crushed donut box beforehand.


	2. Chapter 2

Much to Richie’s surprise, Maggie didn’t question it when he scarfed down three slightly squashed donuts in less than a minute and bolted right back out the door. Even if she had found it a bit strange, he wasn’t paying attention. That wild brain of his was running at a hundred miles an hour again, this time stuffed to the brim with thoughts of Eddie… gorgeous Eddie, who seemed to have captured his heart with a few choice words. As he set off down the street at a brisk rate, clinging to the handlebars as tight as possible, all he could think about was his newfound romantic interest… he hadn’t had feelings for anyone in such a long time, so feeling those little jitters in his stomach every time he whispered Eddie’s name to himself was like a foreign sensation to him. Just to test it out, he tried out Eddie’s name on his lips for the third time in a few minutes, savoring the way it sounded.  _ Eddie… Eds... Eddie Spaghetti. Edwardo Kaspbrak. Edward Spaghetward.  _ He wondered if Eddie would like any of the nicknames he had conjured up for him. He hoped he did… silly nicknames usually made people happy, didn’t they? If that was the case, he wanted Eddie to be the happiest boy in the universe… therefore, he needed many, many silly nicknames. Besides, he was too  _ adorable _ to not have any, wasn’t he?

Richie ended up skidding to a stop right in front of the coffee shop with the blue flower pots exactly two minutes and twenty-nine seconds before his allotted thirty minutes were up, the rubber soles of his shoes scuffing up as he dragged his bike to a stop. He grabbed his one-strap pack and was off once again, tugging the pink turtleneck over his mouth as those beat-up rubber soles that were peeling away slapped against the blacktop with every step across the street, finally stumbling to a stop at the other side when he realized he couldn’t find Eddie. His eyes scanned the scene wildly, looking for any sign of that familiar black hat and brown hair, his mind finally slowing down for the first time in quite a while but then starting back up again in a panic. He wasn’t there… what if he’d died? What if he had gotten run over by someone else? This time in a car? What if he--

“Richie!”

He turned, and Richie’s heart soared as he caught sight of Eddie-- his  _ Eddie Spaghetti _ was back, and he was beautiful! The same black hat from earlier was perched on his head, squishing his fluffy brown bangs that were dangling in his face. Tucked under his arm was the green skateboard; underneath the other one was a thick book with a dark blue cover, the plastic library card tucked between his fingers. Richie watched in a sort of awestruck daze as Eddie hurried towards him, that rare but nonetheless heartstopping grin on his face causing the corners of his eyes to happily crinkle up. “Richie… I got your book like you asked…”

“Aha! Corpse book.”

“...corpse book?”

“...yes.” It was Richie’s turn to blush again, a bright pink that matched his sweater painting itself over his cheeks, brown eyes magnified behind his wire-frame glasses shyly darting towards his sneakers. “...cause it’s about a walking corpse, obviously.”

“Walking corpse?” Eddie examined the back cover of the book, reading the summary before pressing the heavy object into Richie’s arms. “Huh. Do you think you could let me read this when you’re done with it? It sounds interesting…”

“Oh, sure!” Richie nodded as he plucked his library card from Eddie’s outstretched palm. “Thanks for getting the book for me… especially after I ran you over and all…”

“Don’t worry about it!” Eddie grinned, those cinnamon freckles popping out on his cheeks again. “You don’t have anything to get worked up over…”

“Okay, but... are you sure I didn’t hurt you? I’d never want to hurt you… I mean, obviously people wouldn’t want to hurt other people, right?” Richie knew he was rambling, but he couldn’t help it… Eddie made him nervous, so nervous, and he couldn’t help but stumble over his words while shoving his shaking hands into his pockets. “Am I talking too much? I feel like I’m talking too much. I… I should stop now.”

“No, no, it’s okay… I like hearing you talk, if I’m being honest,” Eddie shrugged, running his fingers through the small bits of hair poking out from under his hat. “Your voice is pretty…”

Well,  _ shit _ . Richie considered himself fairly good at flirting, but he was learning pretty damn fast that he wasn’t as good while being on the receiving end of it. Already he could feel those deep pink strains of color staining his face, and he couldn’t help but hide his face behind his book in a very sorry attempt to hide it. “Um. Thanks! I… I like your voice too, y’know. Like, really…” He knew he was rambling again, but he simply couldn’t stop himself, lowering the book and running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to appear more relaxed than he really was. “I mean, I’ve met a lot of people with pretty voices, but I like yours way more, does that make sense?”

Eddie was laughing again, which Richie interpreted as good this time. “Aw… that’s nice to know, I guess. You’re pretty funny, you know that, trash-man?”

“I try my best, y’know?” Richie shrugged. “I just wanna make people laugh, I guess.”

“I mean, you’ve been doing a pretty good job so far, I’d say.” 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” For a few seconds, Richie stood still, shuffling his feet awkwardly and running his fingers over the musty and dog-eared pages of the book in his arms. Finally, he said, “Well then… I’m going to be across the street if you need me, okay? I can order some coffee for you if you want.”

“Aw, thank you… I probably won’t be over there for a while, though. You’ll wait for me, though?” Eddie’s eyes were growing wide, and Richie was finally able to appreciate just how gorgeous they were-- they reminded him of those weird glass bottles on his windowsill, a million different shades of blue and grey shimmering in the slightly muted midday sun. “Please promise me you will…”

“Of course I will! I’ll stay for as long as you want me to. You take your time!” Richie smiled. He turned on his heel to cross the street, briefly tripping over his untied shoelace and managing to catch his balance right at the last minute. He could hear Eddie laughing again, and he savored that one adorable giggle before making a beeline across the street back to his  _ getaway vehicle _ , quite surprised that no one had stolen it. Pushing his way into the air-conditioned comfort of the coffee shop with those blue flowerpots (which were looking more and more like Eddie’s pretty blue eyes with every passing minute), he stumbled into a booth right by the big window in the front, dropping the book down loud enough to attract the attention of several people sitting nearby. 

_ Corpse book time, Richie! Focus on the corpse book. Don’t focus on Eds, don’t focus on the cute boy just on the street who you have a crush on after knowing him for only forty minutes…  _ Of course, Richie found that his thoughts weren’t being very compelling today, as all he could focus on was Eddie, who was now talking to a small group of people across the street. He discovered that he quite frankly couldn’t keep his eyes off of Eddie; he found that he honestly didn’t want to tear his eyes away either. It wasn’t his fault that the brunet was so pretty! And as Richie’s fingers lazily skimmed through the book resting on the wooden table, his brain started swimming again, running at hundreds of miles per hour just from the sheer thought of Eddie himself. He simply didn’t understand how one boy could make his mind race along so fast it seemed that it would  _ spontaneously combust  _ from the pressure growing in his chest, but soon the book was abandoned on the table and his heart was flipping over rapidly, and he didn’t mind at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! sorry that these next few chapters are a bit short... they'll get longer soon, i promise! i hope you all are enjoying the story so far :)


	3. Chapter 3

For the next several days, Richie followed the exact same schedule. He would awake the instant he smelled burning food wafting up into his bedroom, putting more effort into his appearance than he ever had before hopping on his  _ getaway vehicle _ and speeding down the pavement in the dim light of the rising sun. The coffee shop with the blue flower pots opened at a ridiculously early hour, so he would buy some coffee and donuts for him and Eddie to split, sitting at his usual booth and waiting expectantly for his  _ Eddie Spaghetti _ to arrive. When he finally showed up, Eddie was always fairly talkative, telling Richie about everything that had happened to him the previous day, sprinkling in a few (loving? Richie sure hoped so) compliments as well. Richie was able to reciprocate these affectionate words fairly easily, but not without a seemingly infinite amount of flustered embarrassment as well-- his other friends considered him to be the talkative, humorous member of the group, but how was he to maintain that status when a simple compliment from Eddie completely shut him down? Yes, he’d made Eddie blush quite a few times with the greatest of ease, and he hated when he returned the favor and turned him into a stuttering mess… but he had to admit that he kind of liked it too. And when Eddie eventually left the coffee shop after a few hours and retreated to the skate park across the street, Richie would read his book… at least, make an attempt to. More often than not, Eddie ended up being his convenient distraction as he gazed at him from across the street, the book lying forgotten on the table next to the empty donut box and styrofoam coffee cups.

“Have you not finished that book yet?” Eddie asked on one rainy Tuesday morning, when the weather was much too wet and dreary to even attempt to endeavor across the street. He had brought a large beat-up sketchbook to the table that morning, and was currently in the process of creating a quite lovely colored pencil sketch of what Richie guessed was a city street in the wee hours of the morning. “It’s been a few weeks, hasn’t it? And you’re still on the same page that you were three days ago.”

“Ah, well. I get distracted a lot, y’know?” Richie shrugged, his mind working quickly to come up with a believable excuse. He obviously couldn’t tell Eddie that the reason he hadn’t been able to get past the third chapter was because of his breathtaking beauty, now could he? “My mind’s just hopping all over the place.” This wasn’t exactly a lie, he had to admit, but it wasn’t the main reason he had been so distracted… but Eddie seemed to be believing him, so maybe he was doing something right.

“Really?” Eddie took a moment to slip the dark green colored pencil he was holding back into its case, taking another long sip of his coffee before taking off his beanie and resting it on the table, allowing those perfectly fluffy locks of brown hair to tumble down in front of his eyes. “I kind of get what you mean…”

“M-hm. It’s like I’m running on a motor, y’know?” Richie attempted to explain, his hands beginning to gesture about in the way they always did when his mind began to race, as if his body was struggling to keep up with the same pace his thoughts were moving at. “Like, imagine you’re on a bike, right? And you’re going down a hill, but the brakes are broken. It just keeps going and going, and every time you think of something else, it goes faster. It’s just this infinite hill, and you keep going and going and going, and…” He realized he hadn’t taken a breath in a while, and took a microscopic sip of coffee before picking up right where he left off. “...and you’ve just got to go fast. And it’s not like I hate it, either, though. I love it, it’s just other people don’t like it sometimes.”

“...I don’t hate it,” Eddie pointed out. “I can see what you mean… you feel like you’re going a hundred miles a minute, don’t you? Like you can’t keep up with yourself sometimes?”

“Yeah, like that!” 

Eddie seemed to contemplate this for a few moments, twisting the soft material of his oversized sleeves between his fingers. Finally, he replied, “I don’t find it annoying, if that’s what you’re suggesting. It’s just part of your personality at this point, to be completely honest… if you weren’t so hyper and talkative, you wouldn’t be my Richie, would you?”

_ Did he say… ‘my Richie?’  _ It was a strange feeling, but Richie found that he enjoyed it… those words seemed to have sparked a connection between them that hadn’t existed before; of course, he’d known that he and Eddie were companions of sorts, but Eddie’s soft-spoken words seemed to make that final leap over to pure, requited platonic affection, and it made Richie’s heart do that  _ flippy-over thing _ that he was slowly growing to love. “Glad to know my hyperactivity is accepted in your mind!”

“And I’m glad you feel that way.” For a few quiet minutes, neither of them said anything, the only sounds being the chatter of other people within the coffee shop and the gentle pitter-patter of rain against the windows. Just as Richie suspected that Eddie may have fallen asleep, the latter broke the silence. “Can I try something?”

Before Richie could even respond, Eddie was moving forward, his fingers gently pinching the wire frames of his glasses and lifting them off his nose. As Richie watched in bemused silence, Eddie carefully pushed them up his own nose, his eyes instantly growing wide behind the slightly smudged lenses. “Shit, how blind are you? Oh my gosh…” He pushed a few wayward strands of hair out of his face before leaning against the table, resting his head on his hands and smiling up at Richie with a ridiculously adorable expression. “Well? How do I look?”

_ Beautiful, obviously. _ But Richie knew he couldn’t say that. Because Eddie wasn’t one of  _ those _ people that Maggie hoped and prayed that he would never become. Of course, he could feel himself tumbling down that dreaded rabbit hole himself, but nobody needed to know that, especially not Eddie. So rather than spilling his guts and telling Eddie just how  _ unbearably _ cute he looked (or even better, leaning across the tabletop and kissing him right on the forehead as he so deserved), Richie shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. You said it yourself, I’m blind as a bat without those.”

“You’ve got a point, I guess.” Tugging Richie’s glasses off, Eddie put them on the table before turning his attention back to his drawing, pulling out a pencil and getting back to work. Shakily slipping the wire frames back up his nose, Richie pretended to be extremely interested in the  _ corpse book _ , anxiously bouncing his leg and pretending to be immersed deep in the pages of the novel. Every few minutes, he would glance up at Eddie, wanting nothing more than to spill how he felt and tell the boy that he loved him already. He wouldn’t admit that he was gay… he didn’t want to put a label on it. He was still a bit scared of admitting it, even though he knew that Maggie was wrong, but for now, he found it more comfortable to stay in silence.


	4. Chapter 4

Then one day, Eddie didn’t show up to the coffee shop like he usually did. 

It took Richie several minutes to initially realize this, as Eddie didn’t show up until around eight. But when eight turned into eight thirty and beyond, it finally clicked that something wasn’t right, which sent his brain into that zooming spiral of thought he was so familiar with. His fingers shaking on the table as he held onto his coffee cup, the anxious noiret tried to distract himself, even though his eyes were scanning up and down the sidewalk, trying to catch sight of his little  _ spaghetti-man _ . But as it slowly edged past nine-thirty and kept going further, Richie found himself beginning to give up hope.  _ He must not like me anymore. What if he’s realized I love him and now he can’t bear to be seen with me? I was trying not to make it obvious, but… maybe he’s found out somehow. _

Ten o'clock came and went, and Richie determined that he’d had quite enough. Rather reluctantly dumping the remainder of the coffee and donuts into the nearest trash can he could find, he slung his one-strap pack onto his right shoulder and left the shop, the little bright-toned bell that rang out loud and clear when he opened the door doing absolutely nothing to boost his mood. Unchaining his bicycle from the pole of the nearby bus stop, he mounted it before setting off, pedalling as hard and as fast as humanly possible in an attempt to clear his mind that was currently swirling about with anxiety.

Normally, a few laps around one of Derry’s many city blocks helped to alleviate any worries he had, the combination of the wind whipping through his bangs and the little rush he felt every time he ran over a bump somehow managing to relax him. However, today he found that no matter how many times he circled the streets surrounding the movie theater, and no matter how many pedestrians he swerved around and got yelled at by, it somehow didn’t seem to be working. The thought of Eddie was still stubbornly stuck right at the front of his mind, and it didn’t seem like this thought would be leaving him at peace any time in the distant future.  _ Damn it _ , he screamed in his mind,  _ stupidly perfect Eddie, leave me alone! _ And so he went faster and faster, squeezing his eyes shut as the tears slipped out past his eyelashes and streamed down his face, trying not to scream and let his emotions out the easy way, pedaling like a madman as though if he was able to go fast enough, Eddie and his overwhelming perfection would simply leave his head.

Richie had to stop after several more laps, finally dragging his bike to a stop in the middle of the park and dropping it on the ground right by the massive Paul Bunyan statue that always seemed to both impress and intimidate him, for some strange reason. Sinking down right at the base of the statue, he curled up in a tiny ball, pressing his face directly against the slightly yellowed grass and promptly starting to sob, letting the tears he had been holding back drip onto the ground beneath his head. He was quite thankful that there didn’t appear to be any people within close proximity to him, since he would probably be getting multiple strange looks if that was the case. In fact, he was glad he finally had a bit of peace, since he suspected his head would explode if he kept his emotions hidden away for much longer. And even though it hurt every time he tried to take a breath through his tear-clogged throat and made his shoulders and chest tremble with emotion, he somehow felt a bit better crying softly into the patch of dandelions nestled in the grass, even though he knew he was getting plants stuck in his hair.

When Richie finally managed to recover, shakily lifting his head and pushing his hair out of his face, he had to admit he felt slightly better, in the sense that his throat wasn’t burning with emotion and his eyes weren’t watering any more. But to his dismay, he found that his mind was still running about just as fast as ever, if not faster, filled to the brim with the same cursed thoughts as before. Forcing himself into an upright position, Richie picked up his one-strap pack, sifting around in it before pulling out a slightly crushed granola bar he had thrown inside the day before, hastily unwrapping it and shoving half of it in his mouth in one go. He managed to chew it despite how dry his mouth felt now, looking down and pouting at the grass stains on his sweater.  _ Wash it later, _ he reminded himself. 

There was someone coming down the path, Richie realized after a few minutes of sitting in silence with the remainder of his crushed granola bar squeezed in the palm of his hand. Squinting through the smudged lenses of his glasses, Richie got to his feet, taking a few steps closer to identify the figure who was moving closer to him. To his utter shock, upon getting closer he realized it was Eddie, bolting down the path like he was being chased by something. Before Richie could even question this, Eddie skidded to a stop, his chest heaving and his shoulders shaking a bit as he tried to catch his breath.

“...Eddie?” Richie raised an eyebrow, watching as Eddie tried to recover, coughing and wheezing quite a bit. “Are you okay?”

Weakly nodding, Eddie reached into the depths of his jacket pocket, tugging out what appeared to be some sort of asthma inhaler and shaking it up before pressing it to his lips. Slightly worried, Richie watched him for a few quiet moments before reaching over and patting Eddie’s back in an attempt to comfort him. Yes, he was still slightly upset with Eddie for not showing up at the coffee shop that morning, but that didn’t mean he was going to leave him alone while he was practically knelt over on the ground, wheezing as he shakily tried to inhale his medicine. With a bit of effort, he managed to take hold of Eddie’s arm, pulling him over to the Paul Bunyan statue and easing him into a sitting position on the grass before clinging on tight to the back of his jacket to try to calm him down.  _ Come on, spaghetti-man, you can do it. Breathe it in, breathe it out! I know you can do it.  _ Eddie’s coughing and wheezing eventually managed to die down, but Richie didn’t let go, too scared that if he released him that he would start coughing again, biting his lip hiding his face against his crush’s shoulder. He had recovered from the initial shock of seeing Eddie breaking down into a wheezing fit and was now beginning to develop into an even more fragile emotional state than before, wild fantasies running through his mind about what could have happened if the two hadn’t encountered each other at that exact moment, or if Eddie happened to forget his inhaler, or if some other combination of events had occurred that could put his love in grave danger.

“I’m okay,” Eddie finally said after a few minutes, stuffing his inhaler back into his pocket as he tugged his beanie lower down on his head. “...thanks for helping me out like that.”

“You’re welcome.” Richie smiled. “Good thing I happened to be here, huh?”

“Yeah…” As Eddie turned around to look at Richie, a look of concern warped his features, his bottom lip poking out in a little point. “Have you been crying? Your face is all wet…”

“What? No, of course not…” Richie scoffed, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture that quickly fell flat as he realized any attempt to deny it was pointless. Eddie wasn’t stupid, and he could clearly see the fresh bout of tears beginning to well in his eyes. “Well, okay. Maybe a little bit.”

“Oh, Richie… is it because I didn’t come to the coffee shop this morning?”

“Maybe.”

“Fuck, Richie… I’m so sorry, I should have told you somehow!” To Richie’s surprise, Eddie was reaching forward and taking off his glasses, using the sleeve of his shirt to gently rub the lingering tears away while cupping his face in his free hand. “I forgot to set my alarm last night and overslept… by the time I got there you were gone. I’ve been running around trying to find you! I thought you were mad at me and you were avoiding me…”

“Funny… I thought  _ you  _ were mad at  _ me, _ ” Richie giggled, weakly clinging to Eddie’s sleeve while gazing into those big, soulful eyes that were still warped with concern. He had the most beautiful eyes, Richie realized once again, bright blue like the glass bottles sitting on his windowsill at home. “Shit… sorry for running away like that. I honestly didn’t mean to make you run all over looking for me like that…”

Eddie simply sighed, shaking his head with a tiny smile that sent Richie’s heart aflutter. “Oh, don’t apologize. You couldn’t have known I was going to be late. Besides, I’m here now, aren’t I? You don’t need to worry about it,” he replied, running his fingers through Richie’s hair and playfully tapping one of the plastic butterfly clips in his bangs. “You’re okay now, right?”

“I think so.” With a slow nod, Richie took his glasses back, timidly looking down at the ground. “...can I have a hug? Sorry if that sounded weird…”

“Oh, that’s not weird at all! Get over here…” When Eddie leaned over and embraced him, something strange happened. Richie felt his wild, swirling thoughts beginning to slowly but surely slow down, something it had practically  _ never _ done. It wasn’t rushing around in that familiar whirlwind of emotions and regrets… no, the presence of Eddie’s arms gently pressing against his back was enough to somehow completely calm him down and cancel out those thoughts completely. For once, his mind wasn’t rushing along like an out-of-control train car on a wildly swerving track, wobbling back and forth and putting itself at great risk of upending itself and tumbling into a ditch. Instead, it was more like a pendulum this time around, on a set motion back and forth on that straight, perfect path, the anxiety-triggered ball of tightness in his chest that always seemed to be present finally unravelling itself and fading away completely. It was a strange sensation, but Richie found that he enjoyed it quite a bit. In fact, when Eddie eventually pulled away, he felt himself longing for more, as though his  _ spaghetti-man’s _ presence was a form of life support to him.

“There we go… all better!” Eddie gave Richie what seemed the sweetest smile possible, little dimples popping out on his cheeks and his grey-blue eyes scrunching up in the most adorable fashion. “Tell you what, how about we head out to the coffee shop right now to make up for it? And then we can go to the arcade afterwards, if you want… does that sound good?”

“Of course it does!” Hopping to his feet, Richie grabbed his bicycle and pulled it into an upright position, hopping on and grinning at Eddie. “Race you there.”

“Bring it on, trash-man!” Eddie dropped the skateboard onto the slightly dusty stone path, putting one foot on it and playfully flipping Richie off. Without bothering to count down, he was instantly off, that adorable squeaky laugh echoing back towards Richie as he skated off down the path. In an instant, Richie was after Eddie and had passed him in a matter of seconds, giggling triumphantly as he clung tight to his handlebars. He considered himself to be pretty fast, but Eddie was catching up faster than he could have imagined, and soon the two were tied as they zipped past the movie theater. Seeing Eddie’s cheerful face, his cheeks reddened and the bits of hair sticking out from beneath his beanie flapping playfully in the breeze, sent Richie’s mind wild again, his heart beating faster than the single-strap pack bouncing on his back. 

Somehow, Eddie’s mere presence was enough to make his thoughts combust in his head like fireworks, and Richie was barely able to comprehend how much he fucking  _ loved _ him with all his heart. And when Eddie skidded to a stop in front of the coffee shop before him, raising his arms above his arms in victory, it seemed to finally clicked for Richie. He was perfect, so perfect, and he had such strong feelings for him it was practically unbearable. And that sheer perfection would inevitably drive him utterly mad, he suspected.

**Author's Note:**

> hope yall enjoyed this first chapter! I'll be posting the next one sometime this week!


End file.
